Page 31 of The Truth About De Campo

That she had the power of surrender.

He sensed it. Pushed her further. Set his hand to the small of her back and held her firmly against the mattress while his other hand slipped between her legs and brought her to hot, wet readiness.

“Matteo,” she groaned, wild for him. “I need you.”

The sound of foil ripping filled the air. He came back to her, slid a hand under her stomach, lifted her so he could bring the thick, insistent pressure of him against her pulsing core.

“You want me to take you,” he rasped.

She gasped as he brushed the wide tip of his erection back and forth along her aching flesh. “Yes, now, please...”

He took her with a powerful thrust that stole the breath from her lungs. He was dominant, fully in control, using her body for his pleasure. His palm on her back held her secure, made her take all of him, but it was her pleasure, too. She felt him everywhere, stroking into her. Wildly excited, she pushed her hips up, meeting him stroke for stroke, murmuring her appreciation as he took her higher, gave her more.

When she couldn’t take it, when she begged him in broken pleas to make her come, he flipped over on his back, his arm banded around her waist so she came with him. He was still buried deep inside her and brought his thumb to her clitoris. Maddeningly, insistently, he rotated against her pulsing flesh until she screamed, hurtling into the most intense orgasm he’d ever given her.

His big body pulsed inside of her, his hands clamped down on her flesh as he groaned and came. Made her his from the inside out.

They fell into a hot bath, had their wine and cheese on the bed. Then he wrapped her in his arms and held her. It was perfect, so perfect Quinn stayed awake long after Matteo’s raspy snore sounded in her ear.

Maybe it was the lingering effect of always waiting for the penny to drop—maybe it was because her father had pretty much said she and Matteo wouldn’t last. But she couldn’t help but wish he’d offered to walk away from the pitch. Had made his feelings for her that clear.

But he was right. She had to learn to deal with her trust issues. She needed to have faith in him. The problem was, she was still very, very new at this faith thing.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MATTEO WAS ADDING some last-minute statistics to his pitch presentation over coffee on Quinn’s terrace when his mobile pealed, wrecking his concentration. He glanced at the screen. It was Gabriele.

“This better be good,” he barked into the phone. “As you know my future with the De Campo family rests on me nailing this presentation tomorrow.”

“No pressure there,” his perfectly controlled, sanguine brother came back, rich amusement flavoring his tone. “Win and De Campo moves to another level entirely, lose and you are the permanent black sheep.”

Matteo scowled. “You called for a reason?”

“I need you down here for a meeting today. I finally nailed an audience with the liquor board. The director had a last-minute cancellation.”

Matteo pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. “You want me to fly to California today for a meeting?”

“A late afternoon meeting and dinner. You can head back first thing in the morning in plenty of time for the pitch in the afternoon. Rehearse on the jet.”

He brought the phone back to his ear. “No way, fratello.”

“I need you there, Matty. The director is a woman, apparently she knows you.”

Matteo stood up and paced to the edge of the terrace. “I’ve stopped renting myself out as a stud, Gabe.”

“Her name is Katlyn Jones. Remember her?”

Ah. He did. She’d been at a couple of parties he’d attended with his Hollywood ex.

“You’re killing me, Gabe.”

“Two years, Matty. Two years I’ve been waiting for this. To get them listening about the Malbecs.”

“Two years I’ve been in purgatory, fratello mio.”

“So we’ll both win. Be here for two. I promise I’ll get you back in time.”

The line went dead. He dialed their pilot with a low curse, then his PA and went inside to change. Texted Quinn his whereabouts from the cab to the airport. And thought about the doubts he still saw in her eyes every time the contract came up. Since he was now sure he was fully, irrevocably in love with her, perhaps he needed to do something to demonstrate exactly how serious he was.

* * *

Quinn let herself in the penthouse, juggling an armful of groceries, her heart thumping in that ridiculous way it did any time she was about to see Matteo. She had taken the rather risky step of attempting to cook dinner for him given he’d been working until all hours getting ready for the pitch and as far as she could see, not eating very much. Risky when it happened she couldn’t cook at all. But being with Matteo these past few weeks had inspired her to try a lot of new things. To push beyond who she’d thought she was.

She deposited the groceries on the counter and headed out to the terrace where Matteo preferred to work. They’d agreed he would stay with her until the pitch was over and take it from there. Figure out their schedules. But the door to the outdoor space was locked and there was no sign of him.

Figuring he’d gone for a run after the heat of the day, she slipped on an apron in the kitchen and started the water boiling. How hard could pasta be? Boil the water and put the pasta in. Throw it against the wall, apparently. But dicing? That was a foreign language. She took a wild guess and started chopping the vegetables into bite-size pieces. Thought how quiet, how lacking in life the apartment was without Matteo in it. How much she wanted him to come home so she could tell him about the insane step she’d taken of contacting the adoption agency to get in touch with her birth parents. Who knew where it was all going to end, but at least she might get some closure.

Butterflies swooped through her stomach. She shooed them determinedly away. Baby steps, that’s how she was going to do this. With Matteo too. The scariest part was how easily she could see him fitting into her life. Last night he’d started talking about how he’d love a house in Lincoln Park, and it had not been a stretch to picture herself living there with him. Which wasn’t baby steps at all. It was a huge, monstrous step that should have made her run, terrified. Except she hadn’t.

She reached for the prosciutto rather than address the adrenaline surging through her. She loved him. She finally understood what it was that had been missing with Julian. How your heart could feel so empty with one person and so full with another. How when it was right, it was just right.

When the pasta sauce was done and “reducing” in the pan, she went into the bedroom to change. The clock on the bedside table read 8:00 p.m., which made her frown because surely Matteo should be back from a run by now? She reached for her Harvard sweats hanging over a chair. Noticed Matteo’s overnight bag that had been lying in the corner was gone.

Her stomach seized. She strode into the bathroom. His toiletries were missing from the counter. She went into the living room and checked the table where he kept his laptop. Gone.

He was gone.

A buzzing sound filled her ears. Julian had walked out the door that day to Boston as if it was a run-of-the-mill trip to see his brother. And he’d never come back. Bile rose in the back of her throat. Had Matteo left her?

She gave her head a violent shake. That wasn’t him. He wouldn’t do that to her. She picked up her mobile and called him. Got his voice mail. Checked her email and texts to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.

Nothing.

She thought about calling his PA but it was late and it didn’t seem appropriate at this time of night, so she showered, turned the stove off and sat down to wait with a glass of wine. Ten o’clock passed. Eleven. She tried him again and got his voice mail. Surely if there had been some sort of emergency he would have called?

Eyes burning, head throbbing, she went into the kitchen, dumped dinner into the garbage and brushed her teeth. Told herself to stay calm, that there must be some explanation for this. People didn’t just walk out on you.

When she came out of the bathroom, her phone was beeping. She snatched it up and pulled up the text message. It was from Matteo.

Saw you called. Can’t talk now. I need to talk to you before the pitch tomorrow. I’ll pick you up for a coffee before?

She stared at the message. For a good two or three minutes she just stared at it. Then it hit her. He was dumping her. He was about to accomplish his goal of winning the Luxe contract, so why keep her around any longer? It was just like it had been with Julian. Once she’d outlived her usefulness to him, once he’d forged the contacts he’d needed to with the Davis elite, he’d left.

But why now? Why hadn’t he just waited until the pitch was over? Had the guilt gotten to him?

She turned off the lights and slipped into bed. Tears slid down her face—hot, silent. She didn’t understand any of it. Didn’t understand how her emotions, her instincts could be so wrong.

---